Strangers in the Dark
by Wanderlustlover
Summary: Go back a few decades to the time when certain X-men were teenagers. What their lives and thoughts would have been like back then. This is a glance a a perhaps first meeting of Jean Grey and Remy Labeau.
1. Default Chapter

Strangers in the Dark  
  
All ideas belong to me, and my co-writer, Alex......through Remy and Jean, and their back grounds, belong to Marvel.   
  
Part 1  
  
She frowned lightly lacing the white shoelaces in her plain white Assics. She took off her other strap shoe and then tosses it in her blue duffel bag. Her eyes looked at the blue bag a few seconds; white should strap and her name sewn in cursive. Standard issue duffel bag to carry all her stuff. After a second she leaned back down placing the second Assic shoe on and lacing it up, trying not to pay attention to the headache that was slowly taking over her head again. The certain headache.   
  
"JEANNIE!"   
  
She almost jumped, startled by the sudden voice. She looked up her eyes traveling the locker room. There stood Melissa in the door, dressed already in her cheerleader outfit, duffel bag over one shoulder. Her long blonde hair was swept up in a pony tail already. Her face had "the required" amounts of stage make-up already. Melissa didn't need it though. Perfect pale skin, light blue eyes, and bright smile.   
  
"Jeannie, hurry up! The bus doesn't wait for anyone; you know that! Come on!"   
  
"I am hurrying, 'Lissa. My head hurts a little bit. I think I'm getting a small head ache"   
  
Jean nodded faintly, pulling on her blue and white short cheer skirt over the white and gold body suit. She stood up, grabbing her bag and walking to the sinks. She pulled out a brush, running it through her long wavy red hair pretty rapidly. It fell about half way down her back.   
  
"You'll be okay, Jeanie. The headache will go away once you get out there. It'll be like normal."   
  
The words seem to strike her core as her eyes stayed on the mirror while she started pulling her hair up together in a ponytail, studying her face at the same time. Bright fire green eyes, light skin that she swore had the lightest dash of freckles no one else could see, light pink lips and then her bright red hair again.   
  
(No, It'll never be normal, 'Lissa. I'll never be normal. I'm not like you. Not anymore. I used to be.)   
  
Pulling it up, she grabbed her dark blue scrunchie from her bag, tying it up high, and then clipper her blue, white and gold bow right in front of it. She pulled out her make-up bag for games. Dark eye shadow, bright blush, and such. They had to stand out on the field. She glanced over at Melissa a second, putting on her mascara.   
  
"Come on, hurry up!"   
  
She stared at her own face a second, starting to put the blush on. She glanced at Melissa who was impatiently walking around the locker room and glancing at her every few seconds.   
  
**Your okay, Jeanie, aren't you? You're worrying me. Damn, that bus is going to leave us here. I'm gonna miss seeing Brad.**   
  
She muffled a sudden sound of surprise, which grabbed Melissa's attention, and she tried to go back to her make-up without shaking. That kept happening. Small thoughts kept coming into her head. She closed the compact and slipped it in the bag.   
  
(Can't seem to stop them. Stop that Jeanie. He taught you; you could. Just push it away for now. Focus on the football game. Close your eyes, take a breath, and then go out there and wow them like always.)   
  
She zipped her bag up and smiled turning round to Melissa who was now read a note.   
  
"Kay's, 'Lissa, lets go."   
  
"Good."   
  
Melissa grabbed her hand and they both raced out and though half the side of the high schools' campus to the front where the bus was and got on taking their normal spot in the back.   
  
***** ***** *****   
  
A cheer rang out suddenly as the second to last touch down they needed was scored. A faint over-joyed laugh reached Jean's lips as suddenly she was raised into the air by three of the other cheerleaders. She stood in formation, moving as little as she could. Her eyes passed happily over the crowd as they watched her and the other cheerleaders.   
  
Her eyes suddenly caught on him and something made her shudder almost and her heart stop cold. He was looking directly at her. Well, of course he was; everyone was. But it was different, he seemed to be "watching her". He was standing off to the far side of the stadium seats, in what could be considered the shadows in a long trench coat type jacket. Dark eyes, and long hair. She couldn't see much with him in the shadows. He didn't look away. Niether did she. Something was happening. An odd shiver ran down her back as she continued to cheer.   
  
Suddenly she fell through the air into the three other girls arms, and except for realizing it a second after they let go, she almost fell forward not backward onto their arms. They were looking at her oddly as they all fell into another formation cheering as the last touch down was scored and their team won the game.   
  
She looked up again as she picked up her megaphone and pom-pom's and started to leave with the rest of the cheerleaders; he was gone. Vanished into the large cheering crowd. She shrugged off the odd feeling still nipping at her as her head throbbed lightly and she almost winced. The headache was getting better; it was getting worse and all the people weren't helping. But the thoughts inside wouldn't be put off either. Who was he?? Where had he gone? Why was it he left her wondering? Why did something in her yearn to rush out there and try to find him? Melissa tapped her lightly, almost scaring her out of her skin and they walked off towards the bus to leave talking quietly. 


	2. Part 2

Strangers in the Dark  
  
(Popularity is easy) Jean mused silently (Show up, smile, and laugh. Hang out with the popular crowd, be one of the three best cheerleaders. Dress in the right clothes, look pretty and sound self-confident. And never ever under any circumstances tell anyone the truth. The whole truth atleast. Never reveal to anyone that she; one of the girls elected possible Homecoming Queen, the soon to be cheer captain was unnormal. Was a- a mutant. One of the feared and hated-) A shiver ran through her and she frowned almost angrily (Stop it, Jean. Stop right there. Oh, my head hurts. Flits of thoughts still entering my head; can't seem to control it. Oh, god, I wish I weren't so alone)   
  
"Do you agree, Jean? Jean? Earth to Jean Grey?"   
  
She blinked hastily realizing she'd lost herself in her thoughts- again. She looked up at the girls at the table pulling up a faint smile. There were six of them. Across from her on the other side of the table sat Jennifer,   
  
Jessica and Faith. Jennifer Pace had blue green eyes and a mix of blonde-brown hair. She was usually the sorta the really peppy one of them. Jessica Dual had golden blond hair that fell in spirals and bright blue eyes, she was a good cheerleader and wonderful pep leader, but sometimes lacked a little when it came to confidence. Faith Avin had straight black hair and these gray to violet eyes. She was the smallest and quietest of them all. When she said something they all stopped to listen.   
  
Then on her side of the table it was her in the middle, Melissa sat at her right and Belinda on her left. Melissa Tryios was her closest friend at the school, but never her best friend. That was something she could never left Melissa be inside yet- not since Anne. Belinda Seymour, at her left, had long brown hair and these sparkling green eyes with little gold flecks. She was usually always what seemed too hyper to Jean.   
  
"Jeannie? You okay?"   
  
She blinked; that was Faith a slightly worried look on her face and Jean nodded, pushing her thoughts away with a cover;   
  
"Yeah, hey don't worry, sorry my mind wandered and I was thinking about the ending I was making for the new formation Coach started us on. Where were we?"   
  
"There's are soon to be leader! Always thinking ahead already. We were talking about the Homecoming Dance theme," explained Jessica," Belinda say says Marine Life, Melissa say 20's or something, Jennifer says something related to rare exotic flowers. And me and Faith, really don't have any ideas. We need money tight ideas, cause we haven't much to spend; what do you think?"   
  
Jean watched Jessica closely as she spoke, but she was hearing two different sets of conversations. One was words, the other was thoughts. Jessica was helping Belinda's boyfriend, Matt to cheat on her. It had all been purely innocent at first; she'd only been tutoring him in Pre-Calculus and things progressed from there. She tried to push the thoughts away pulling on her thoughtful idea expression to cover her silence.   
  
"Maybe something like an old fashion square dance or barn dance? I always like the old fashion ones sorta; they seem more realistic and romantic."   
  
"Well, I don't know, what would we use for decorations?" asked Belinda.   
  
"Umm, lets see, it's fall- we could……I know we could gather real leaves and spray paint them in all sorts of colors and hay bails and such?"   
  
"Catering?" Jennifer added.   
  
"Ahhh, we could make homemade snacks and such. Punch and sweets. Faith's mom is a baker; maybe she could make us a cake."   
  
"Pictures, Jeanie? What would we do there??? Every dance needs photographs for memories," Melissa chimed in.   
  
"We could- we could get the photojournalism group involved. Maybe even get it to be extra credit for them! And then- and then- we could use all the extra money we get and- and donate it to something good. Something like the Endangered Animal Fund," she smiled brightly as she finished it, "What do you think?"   
  
"I love it!" Squealed Jessica.   
  
"Me, too," Faith smiled.   
  
"There three!" piped in Jennifer.   
  
Melissa grinned, "You know I'm in for all of Jeannie' brainy ideas!"   
  
"I think it's great, too," Belinda said.   
  
"Well, then I guess I can call this meeting to an end;" Jessica said brightly as she started standing up and getting out of the table; "I hope to see you all tomorrow morning for early practice, remember we do have basketball game tomorrow night."   
  
They all scattered suddenly with faint mummers of saying they'd be there. Jean slung her backpack over her shoulder, picked up her duffel bag and gathered up her books holding them to her and started walking out quietly. Melissa walked up nudged her shoulder with her shoulder, faint whisper;   
  
"Who were you day dreaming about?"   
  
"What?" Her eyes were on her books as she tried to not pay attention to the swirl in her thoughts.   
  
"You can't play it off, Red, you know I won't let you. You've been lost and dreamy state for days now. What did you do? Did you kiss some full blown hottie and not tell me? Are you sitting and day dreaming 'bout some guy you can't tell me 'bout, Jeannie???"   
  
Jean laughed suddenly unable to keep it in;" It's nothing like that, 'Lissa. You know if there was a somebody I'd tell you immediately."   
  
"The guy?"   
  
"There isn't one."   
  
"Sure there isn't, Red. There must be one somewhere in that mind of yours. Come on, tell me bout him."   
  
"Like you and Brad?" It slipped suddenly and a hand went to Jeans lips, because Melissa had never ever mentioned him outloud. She averted her eyes looking down, hoping Melissa had missed that.   
  
"W-w-what do you know about Brad?"   
  
Jean kept her eyes forward, dropping her books, duffel and backpack on the bench since they'd finally reached the front of the school, walking to the bars holding the front part up, one her hands on one. They always waited right here.   
  
"Well, it's just I've noticed you get this dreamy look watching him and how you get when he's around the group. It's natural I've come to the conclusion you like him, 'Lissa, Not that there's anything wrong with him, he kind cute in that Devin Sawa look, I guess."   
  
"Yeah, I guess I like him. There I've finally said it out loud. I still swear there must be someone you think about like that, too," Melissa replied walking towards the column nearest Jean and leaning against it, looking at her.   
  
"I don't have time for romance yet, 'Lissa."   
  
"And what all do you have standing in your way of romance?"   
  
Faintest sigh escaped Jean's lips;  
  
"First of all there's school, and my A average grades, which take tons of studying, homework and extra credit to keep up. Then there's cheerleading a practice, all the games, tumbling lessons and gymnastics for cheerleading, and soon all the extra work of being the Captain of the Cheer Squad. Then there's being a good daughter, chores, and all that. I don't have time for a guy in there, 'Lissa."   
  
She frowned faintly, closing her eyes a second. (Not to mention my being a mutant who gets everyone thoughts stuck inside her head)   
  
"Not even him?"   
  
Jean opened her eyes suddenly at the words, looking around at all the sparse people walking around this late in the evening after school.   
  
"Who?"   
  
"Him." Melissa pointed almost directly in front across the parking lot, to one guy standing against a telephone pole, seeming to be waiting for something. "He's been watching us since we came out. But I think more that he's watching you."   
  
Almost at that same second Jeans eyes landed on the guy and she a shiver ran down her back. It was him, again. The guy from the game a week ago almost. He was dressed in dark pants and the same trench coat. It was daylight and it still didn't seem any easier to make him out from so far away and at that second he looked up at her. Their eyes met again. She couldn't look away and he didn't.   
  
Suddenly, a van drove up parking in her line of sight and she blinked confused a hand going to her head as kids started piling into that van.   
  
"Jeanie? You okay?"   
  
She looked up, Melissa was looking at her.   
  
"Yeah, I- I'm okay."   
  
The van door slammed closed and drove off, and she looked away, not even hearing   
  
Melissa's words as her eyes fell on the form again. He wasn't alone anymore; three other people had joined him now. What were they talking about? A sudden car horn jarred her thoughts and she realized Melissa's mom was there to pick them up now. She jumped and jotted back, grabbing her backpack, duffel bag and her other books. And walking back, she glanced back one at the small group. He was talking seriously with them. She could tell from here, but about what? And who was he and why did he show up out of the blue? Did he go to her school?   
  
********************************************************************************   
  
"So then the radial under the square root box under division bar can be divided by the non-denominator, right? Even if it's another square root?"   
  
Melissa looked up miserably from her math book where she was laying on Jeans bed and with a faint grins Jean looked back at her from her bed room window where she'd been staring out.   
  
"Nope. Only the radical in the square root box over the division bar can be divisible by the non-denominator through the whole multiplication problem and when it's another square root it can only be reduced, not divided, 'Lissa."   
  
"How do you keep it all straight, Jeannie??? I can't even understand my own words with all these terms, and I can see no way in hell to pass that test."   
  
"Come on, you know it. You'll pass the test, don't worry so much."   
  
"Melissa, Hun? Your mom's here."   
  
They both looked at each other a second as Mrs. Grey called Melissa and they grinned lightly as Jean tossed their spiral in Melissa backpack and then Melissa took it placing her book in it. Melissa smiled lightly;  
  
"Get a good night of sleep, Jeannie and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"   
  
"Sure thing, 'Lissa, you, too"   
  
They hugged each other for a second and Melissa walked out and left. Picking up her book as the front door slammed shut, and opened it reading one page. Then suddenly she shut the book, her mind wasn't on reading. She shifted positions and was lying on the bed with her head on her hands at the end of the bed and her feet near her pillows.   
  
(Do I really want to be the Cheer Captain? God, do I really want to think about the point I'm probably going to end up Homecoming Queen too? How can anyone like me lead a normal life? Maybe I should tell 'Lissa. Would she understand? Or would she suddenly be afraid of me- her closest friend? I mean I guess I could understand part of it. I've kept this serious secret from her so long. She's be angry, but that would make sense. But would she understand? She's normal still, like I was 6 years ago. Before Anne died, before the depression, and before Doctor Xavier.) 


	3. Part 3

Strangers in the Dark  
  
  
  
The first sensation she realized was sound, but it wasn't in her ears . . . it was in her head.   
  
The next sensation she realized was the strange feeling of floating on water . . .   
  
Jean moaned as black swirled to brilliant colors, then finally settles on an ash grey. Blinking to clear the swirling spots in front of her eyes, she found herself staring up at a vaulted ceiling. A single light floated above, giving off a cold, wan, fluorescent light that did nothing to illuminate the room. Jean groaned softly, her head was pounding! The last thing she remembered was returning home from her outing for ice cream with Melissa after the basketball game. From then till now . . . Jean didn't even have a clue as to when "now" was! She turned her head softly, as she saw an outside window. It was night out, pitch black except for the light reflected from the moon.   
  
Lifting her arm to check her watch, she grimaced as she could feel a warm sticky liquid beneath her. The light given from the tiny lonely light bulb fifty feet above her did nothing to help her see what the substance was.   
  
(Mother's going to kill me for ruining my cheerleading outfit!)   
  
Pressing the little light on her watch, she read the time.2:16 AM.What had happened? When she was walking home it was 7:30! Jean strained her throbbing head to try to remember, but it was a blank. Then the horrifying thought hit her.   
  
(My powers must have kicked in!!! )   
  
Shivering more from the thought of the consequences of her powers than from laying in a cooling pool of liquid, she struggled to sit up. Her mind was racing. Something loosely similar to this had happened before, but she was in the safety of her home then, and she hadn't been unconscious long. But the events were similar. At one moment, she was well and fine, fully aware of her actions and her surroundings and then, hours later, she had awaken, lying on the floor, with no conscious memory of what had happened in that missing time frame.   
  
(But then . . . how'd I wind up here??)   
  
Shakily standing, she grimaced as she could feel the dark liquid dripping off of her like a water-based glue. Some of it had dried on parts of her. She lifted her arms to her line of vision, squinting in the faint light to try to identify the goo she was laying in, but the light wasn't near enough for her to see properly. As it was, she could barely make out a dark massive silhouette that seemed to be the only other occupant of the room.   
  
Jean moaned as a new sound rang in the distance, the faint sound of police sirens fastly approaching.   
  
Accompanying the sound was a new resonance in her mind. They were thoughts, voices . . . panicked voices. The thoughts were too rampant for her to singularly pick out what they were saying, but she could feel the general tone.   
  
Fear.   
  
That same fear started to wash onto Jean. What has happened? Turning her head every which way, feeling her soaked hair slicking itself to her forehead, her eyes finally caught sight of something that resembled a flashlight rolling around on the floor. Her hands trembling badly, she bent down to pick up the flashlight.   
  
The flashlight had seen better days; a huge dent creased its casing and it too was drenched in the same strange liquid that also covered her.   
  
(Oh I hope this isn't oil, or gasoline! Those'll take forever to try and clean out on my own)   
  
Fumbling with the switch, she was finally able to active it, shining the faint light upon the dark massive silhouette in the corner.A horrified scream would have escaped her lips if her lungs hadn't sunk down to her stomach in fright. Her jaw hung open, moving to form silent, incoherent words. The flashlight fell from nerveless fingers and landed with a splash upon the floor, spinning and twirling, the light falling like a disco ball strobe upon the horror. Several bodies lay one upon the other, faces frozen forever in looks of horror and sheer terror. Body parts were strewn about the pile of dead humans in a sick collage.   
  
Everywhere she looked, she saw broken bones protruding from cold, pale flesh. The congealing blood ran like rivers down the heap. One person was missing half his head. Another was gutted savagely from crotch to adam's apple. A third had a massive crater where her chest should have been and another's arm was threaded through the gory hole. Jean lost count of how many there were. It was as if the group of people had been fed to the whirling blade of some massive grinder.   
  
Jean struggled to scream, struggled even more to breathe. Shaking terribly, she sunk to her knees, her hand at her throat, trying desperately to breathe. The siren wailed closer, bringing a new thought to mind.   
  
(The police! My God there must be a whole fleet of them!)   
  
Jean started to breathe once more. The police would help her! They'd take her away from this obscene horror, take her home. They'd find the monster who did this and bring it to justice!   
  
The flashlight spun and twirled until the light came to rest on her.   
  
(They'd find the monster who did this . . . )   
  
Jean's eyes widened in terror as she looked upon herself in the light. The liquid that she had awaken in, that had covered her now, practically head to toe.   
  
(Blood . . . THEIR blood!!)   
  
Her mind whirled with thoughts as the breath in her lungs quickened and chilled. Her body felt cold. . . .   
  
(Another blackout . . . don't know what happened . . . blood, THEIR blood . . . the monster who did this . . . the monster . . . )   
  
Tears fell from her eyes as her body went numb with one final thought.   
  
(Did I do this??)   
  
She could feel her heart plummet to the floor. No, this couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening!! This had to be some sick fever dream!! But that blackout . . . what had happened during that time?? Why was she here?? The sirens screamed closer as sudden memories of news broadcasts came to mind; stories of mutants like herself who couldn't control their power, and unleashed it violently upon others. What she remembered most were how heavily they were feared, loathed, persecuted.   
  
(My God . . . I'M the monster!! )   
  
The sirens were approaching at a rapid clip. They were coming. They would see the masses of dead people here, deaths that SHE had wrought. They would tell their families, and their families would grieve horribly, and the police would seek justice . . . retribution . . .   
  
. . .vengeance . .   
  
They were coming . . . coming for the inhuman monster who had brought about this atrocity of genocide . . . coming for the hellish inhuman monster whose sins had gone far beyond anything the German fuhrer had done.   
  
Jean yanked herself to her feet, running, slipping, through the large warehouse, looking desperately for a way out of this tomb she had created.   
  
They were coming . . . for her.   
  
Everything seemed to fall to a haze of surrealism. Half slipping, half tripping, Jean fell to the floor, the pain of a newly sprained ankle fading temporarily under the heavy blanket of heart-racing horror in her mind.   
  
Breathing fast and breathing audibly, she tore to her feet, running for a door on the far wall of the warehouse. Slamming against it, her fingers worked clumsily in her hysteria to try to open the lock on the door. It was useless, the police were here, hoards of them, guns drawn. They had sealed all the exits. She could hear them call into the building on their megaphone, informing her that she was surrounded, demanding her surrender. In her mind, the random thoughts of fear, panic, and hatred that flowed to her mind from the police outside only sickened her more and fueled the fire of her hysteria. The world seemed to be gyrating so fast, and she felt like she was drowning in the typhoon.   
  
The soft sound of a latch being opened drew her sharp attention above her. The sound came from the hatch that led to the roof. Determined, she looked about, practically ripping her blood-soaked hair from her eyes.   
  
A ladder on the far wall led up to a maze of rickety catwalks above her. The flashing, dazzling lights emanating from the police vehicles outside washed the warehouse in its brilliance as she tore towards the ladder, clinging to it like a lifeline. Fighting the shooting pain in her ankle, she climbed till she reached the catwalks. Almost stumbling on the old iron castwork of the catwalk, she finally reached the hatch. Ever grateful now that her time in cheerleading had built some muscle in her coltish legs, she vaulted herself out of the hatch and onto the roof.   
  
The first sensation to reach her was the bitter chill of the rushing night winds. When had it gotten so cold outside? Indeed, the icy feeling reached deep into her bones as the winds chilled the blood that soaked her. Her arms wrapped tight about her, she hobbled over to the ledge of the warehouse roof, looking over. The street below seemed to be swamped in flashing red, white, and blue light, peppered by the small images of police, dressed in black, guns armed and raised.   
  
(It all seemed so unreal . . . how could this be happening to me??)   
  
A cry from below brought her out of her trance. One of the snipers had spotted her and cried out to his associates. The booming voice from the megaphone ordered her to stop or they would open fire. The despairing part of her wished they would. Then she'd fall into that sea of lights below, and awaken in her bed, safe and warm, this all being nothing more than a sick dream.   
  
The bullet that whizzed past her, reflecting off of the ledge of the roof and nicking her in her left thigh scared her back to reality. Jean cried and fell upon the cold warehouse roof. Shaking her head to regain rationalization, she began to think things through, while her hand clutched the inside of her thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. The wound wasn't bad, the bullet had only grazed her, but it was enough to slow her down.   
  
The cops were inside the gory warehouse now, clinically examining her "work". It wouldn't be long until they reached the roof, and then she'd be trapped. On the distance, she could hear the faint callings of two helicopters. They weren't pulling punches here, they knew the severity of the situation. Jean struggled to clamp down on the overwhelming thoughts and feelings of horror and nausea emanating from the officers inside. She knew she had to get off this roof but how? She also knew she had to run far from here, but where? Lord, how was she supposed to know what to do?   
  
The glint of a ladder attached to the roof called her attention like a glimmer of hope. Limping towards the escape ladder, she looked down the side of the roof. The ladder lead to a dark side alley, but the ladder itself was a good fifteen feet from the ground. Part of it must have broken off due to age. The alley was clear of cops for the moment, but it would mean that she would have to take a twenty foot fall and survive.   
  
Gritting her teeth as she heard the helicopters fast approaching, she ran for the ladder, slipping over the side of the roof and gripping the ladder rungs for dear life, trying desperately to keep herself from looking down. It seemed to take an eternity as Jean fumbled down the ladder as quietly as she could, but she finally reached the bottom rung. She could hear the cops starting to patrol the long dark alley way. This was it.   
  
Maybe she'd be fortunate and the impact would kill her.   
  
Taking in her last breath, she let go of the ladder and fell . . .   
  
. . . into the strong arms of a man below her.   
  
Her breath, along with her heart, catching in her throat, she tried to struggle against the mysterious figure who had caught her. The man cursed in a voice smooth and smoky, in a language she wasn't quite familiar with. Keeping one arm around her waist, letting her legs fall gently to the ground, he used his free hand and clamped it over her mouth, quietly moving both of them behind a dumpster as three patrol units pulled into the alley way. There they crouched in the safety of the shadows, watching the patrolmen survey the alley with their maglights. Fear seized every nerve in her body as she attempted to struggle. His long fingers tightened on her mouth, snapping her head back against his shoulder, his lips dangerously close to her ear.   
  
"Don' . . . move . . ." he whispered softly, but Jean could feel the hidden threat, the steel edge, in his voice.   
  
Ceasing her struggles, she sat rigid by him, the uncontrollable tears of fright and pain spilling silently from her jade green eyes. The man must have felt them coarse down his hand, because suddenly his lips were near her ear again,   
  
"Shhhh . . . relax, chere . . ." With a nod that was more of a tremor, she held still as they watched the cops.   
  
"Whatever it was might have gotten out this way" the first cop stated, flashing his light to illuminate the rickety ladder above.   
  
"That's at least a twenty-foot drop!" the other argued, "I don't think anything human could survive a sheer drop like that!"   
  
The other cop turned on his partner, "You saw the sickening carnage inside the scene. You honestly think something HUMAN could have done that??"   
  
The words rang hollowly in Jean's ears, as she felt herself grow cold and the knife twist in her soul.   
  
Suddenly, an electronic voice called out on their walkie-talkies.   
  
"(tsch!) Attention all units! We've found another door to the warehouse facility! Suspect believed to have left through there! All units procede to the south side of the warehouse! (tsch!)"   
  
"You heard the Captain, Howard!" the first officer replied, "We'll keep a unit to watch the alley just in case. Let's hurry and get to the back entrance of the warehouse!"   
  
The two officers hurried off, their footsteps echoing in the alleyway. The car still sat there, bathing the entrance of the alley in its flood of white and blue flashing lights.   
  
As Jean started to breath again, she could feel the man's lips twist into a wry smile.   
  
"Dat be our way outta here, chere. Allons y!"   
  
Releasing his grip on her mouth, he in turn grabbed for her wrist and turn and fled down the opposite end of the alleyway, Jean in tow. Jean grimaced as she ran the best she could on her wounded, bleeding leg and spained ankle, a small part of her marveling how he could run so fast, and yet not make a sound. It was all she could do to keep up with him as he took her flying through random side streets. His grip on her wrist was the only thing keeping her going. She cried out as her hip collided with the side of a wall. The man had stopped, finally, turning back to face her.   
  
"S'okay, chere, we should be clear now. Dere ain't a cop in sight."   
  
Jean finally took a good look at her captor . . . rescuer . . . she wasn't quite sure which. Her green eyes took in his tall, sinewy body covered in black jeans, a black shirt, and a worn-looking trench coat. His reddish-brown hair was long, tied back in a ponytail, leaving the shorter pieces hanging in his face and his eyes . . . his eyes . . .   
  
Jean gasped as she got a good look at his eyes in the bright moonlight. Demon eyes . . . alluring . . . like two pools of darkness, with bright red irises that were . . . glowing?   
  
In shock, the eerie street, the moonlight, his body, and those eyes, faded away at blackness swallowed her whole. 


	4. Part 4

Strangers in the Dark  
  
A faint consciousness descended on Jean slowly, and she could hear someone moving around somewhere, or maybe it was just the physical presence in her mind. Faint mumble escaped her lips;   
  
"Five more minutes mommy, I had the weirdest dream, just five more minutes and I promise I'll get up."   
  
A smooth, smoky voice that sparked a strange familiarity in her sleep-soaked mind answered her, its tone raising the small hairs on the back of her neck.   
  
"I ain't y'mother, chere. Dis ain't no dream, and dat wound on y'thigh ain't gon' wait 'nother five minutes."   
  
Her green eyes snapped open at the voice as she sat up suddenly and a wave pain that suddenly ran through her also confirmed it wasn't a dream. She stifled a cry as her hand went to her hip and her eyes landed on him. She clutched at the blanket over her bringing it her about her chest, with almost a completely scared and trapped expression. Looking around realizing besides being in utterly foreign place, she was in someone else's bed, and in a black T-shirt. What had happened to her uniform? Where was she? Who was this man?   
  
"W-who-where? Oh, shit, this hurts!"   
  
In this light, she got a better look at him. He was young, looking barely a year older than she was, and his handsome features only added to his sleek look. His soft, unrule auburn hair hung in his eyes, eyes that betrayed not only mystery, but age. His eyes were that of a child who had seen too much, and "Old soul" her mom had called them. His fingers reached out and softly combed her blook-soaked hair out of her face. It was a comforting gesture that once again raised the small hairs on the back of her neck.   
  
"I know, chere," Jean watched him wide-eyed just looking at him silently, "if y'want me t'take care o' it, ya gon' have t'move de covers so I can bandage it properly."   
  
Watching him almost uncomfortably, her eyes not leaving him and yet she seem to being looking for almost any means of escape from- from a nameless guy who's house she was in. Who's bed she was in. A hand went to her temple silently, the pounding pain still there inside her head. It was growing worse and worse, too.   
  
The night was slowly coming back to her, everything after the blackout rolled past her mind in what seemed like only 5 seconds.   
  
"No-no....", almost absently she dropped the blanket her hands on her head. "No, It couldn't be. W-What happened? Oh-no, this isn't good."   
  
She stopped almost suddenly letting her hands fall to her at her sides, silencing herself. A bit confused and worried by the small scene he was still sitting next to her on the bed. Almost wary expression, sizing him up and wondering if she can trust him at all, she pulls the covers down to where the bullet grazed her thigh. The man's eyes studied her silently for a moment, then he shook his head.   
  
"Ah, forgive me, chere. In all dis excitement, I never introduced m'self. De name's Remy" he smiles his most charming smile as he held out his hand for hers, "And yours would be....?"   
  
She looked at his hand barely a few seconds, almost expecting something to happen and still trembling faintly places her small pale hand in his. She seemed to be recovering from her shock pretty fast. "I-I'm Jean. It's still fuzzy; What happened to my uniform? Last i remember it was soaked with--"   
  
"Blood, chere . . . " suavely, he took her hand to his lips, "Oui, I know. Y'uniform's in de sink, bein' rinsed out. Forgive de lack of clothes, Jean. Didn't think much o' my stuff would fit y'petite body."   
  
He released her hand, helping her to sit up on the bed. He moved the silk covers down, exposing her slim legs. Jean tried hard to hold back a blush as she realized exactly how much leg was exposed. A cheer skirt was one thing, but all she had on was this boys t-shirt literally. She was glad for the fact that it sparked no reaction out of the man.   
  
"I know you ain't know me, chere, but I gon' need ya t'trust me." His eyes read sincere as he began to gently clean the wound and bandage it.   
  
(Trust, riiiiight) Jean thought. (Guess it would be a necessary thing considering where his hands are right now)   
  
She gulped down another heated blush, fighting the torment of emotions and anxiety within her. With everything that had happened tonight, both her mind and body had felt 'violated'. And now here she was, in this strange man's bed, with not much to cover her, and him with his hands so close to...... she ached for the slightest provocation to deck this guy. Jean desperately needed an outlet for the bottled up storm of emotions within. Yet he gave her none. His eyes never wandered from the wound on her upper thigh, his expression serious. Even his touch was soft, soothing, helping to ease the stinging pain brought on by the disinfectant. Could she trust this boy? Even when current circumstances forced her too? 


	5. Part 5

Strangers in the Dark  
  
Bending over she rang the water out of her hair, watching it run down the shower drain. She could almost swear even now that part of the water was still red, even though it wasn't. She'd never forget all of it running down her skin when she first stuck her head under the shower head and water cascaded through her hair. A faint shudder ran through her and she steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her and she tried to push that picture away, again.   
  
She looked at her face in the foggy mirror, thinking over the events again. She could remember the basket ball game, She could remember getting a "very berry"- strawberry smoothie at the ice cream place with Melissa, and she could remember waking up in the god awful room 7 hours later and the events after that.   
  
But the black out was a complete gap in her mind again. And then there was him.   
  
Jean started drying herself off slowly, standing on a small carpet in the bathroom. Remy. The name sounded French and that went along with the accent. He'd saved her, bandaged her; and all for nothing- yet. Faint shiver, both due to her thoughts and the cooling air in the bathroom. Laying the towel on the counter, she slipped back into the black t-shirt. Why'd he help her? Could she trust him in the least? What was in the part of her memory which remained blank? She picked up the towel drying her hair partially and then folded the towel, placing on top of the down toilet seat cover.   
  
(If the questions don't kill me first this aching throb within my skull will)   
  
She picked up a comb he had and ran it through all her hair. Studied her face again. Her eyes were still a jaden green color, and her skin an almost pale white. Her red hair for the moment fell completely straight, but only because it was still wet; and soon it would get the normal waves and curls again as it dried. She was still the same and yet everything was different. Yesterday she'd just been the popular cheerleader, with one secret- now......Now she was the girl who'd been laying in a pool of blood, surrounded by carnage, chased by the cops and rescued by him. The guy from both the game and the school. It had taken for the shock to wear off for her to realize it, but it was him. and now he had a name.   
  
Remy.   
  
*******************************************   
  
"Why were you there?"   
  
He spun around surprised. She'd snuck up on him, and that was an incredibly hard thing to do. She stood there in the doorway in only his black t-shirt again that fell half way down her thighs, her hair still wet, with her hands and fingers laced together in front of herself. She seemed to have regained her assured composure again. He put on his poker-face that betrayed no emotion to answer her,   
  
"Better question, chere. Why were YOU?"   
  
The words struck a cord in her. Since she had awaken in that bloody "tomb" she had been striving to find out why. "I - I don't know. All I remember was walking home from a friends how, and then the next thing knew, it was 2:30 in the morning and I had just woken up . . . there . . ." The sudden onslaught of terrifying memories rush back at her, making her shiver. Her head turned away as she could feel the beginning of tears. She didn't know this Remy from "Adam" but she sure wasn't going to let him see her cry.   
  
Damning himself for bringing so much back upon her when she was still "shell shocked", Remy quietly walked up to the tall, trembling, fire-haired beauty and gently put his arms around her, tilting her towards his chest. His fingers ran through her freshly-washed hair that smelled so nice, whispering consolments and reassurements in French.   
  
Once more, Jean let her guard down a fraction as she accepted his hold. With her world having turned a backwards 720 revolution, and no one to turn to until she found out the truth, it was - comforting - to be able to trust someone now. Listening to his voice relaxed her. He murmured those french words like a mantra, soothing her.   
  
(Damn, how I wish I had paid attention to those French classes Mom made me take!) Regaining composure, she stepped back out of his hold and leveled her eyes to him.   
  
"Now that I've told you what *I* was doing there, I think its your turn. Also might help if you told me where *we* are now."   
  
Remy sighed, he knew this was coming. Stepping back and sitting on the corner of his bed, he looked up at her, his face unreadable.   
  
"Would you believe dat I happened t'be in de area?"   
  
The scowl on Jean's face enunciated her disbelievance.   
  
(Well, it's *partly* true!)   
  
"Actually, I was out working late, when I saw de cops racing. Naturally curious, I followed dem, and when I was close enough t'see de firefight 'bout t'break out, I saw you on de roof, scared and bleeding. Ya didn't look like no criminal t'me, chere, and believe me, I've seen m'share of crooks. So, after ya headed for de fire escape, I followed ya, t'see if I could help." He put on his charming smile again, "Never could resist a lady in distress."   
  
Jean sighed. It sounded almost ... plausible.   
  
"Fine, but what were you doing at the school?"   
  
"Ya saw me?" Remy inwardly scolded himself (damn, I mus' be slippin'!) "Act'lly a friend o' mine goes t'dat school, so I visit him from time t'time. He mentioned you, said dat he had a class wit' you, so I looked up on ya." He smiled again, "He was right when he said ya were a stunning woman."   
  
Jean was able to suppress the blush, but couldn't erase the small smile that came to her face. "And who is this friend of yours that I may think him?"   
  
Remy smiled again, seeming to pull her eyes hypnotically into his own, "Now, now, chere, it would be wrong of me t'go and tell my friend's crush what his identity be."   
  
Jean shivered again, as she shook her head to regain her senses. She didn't know what it was about him, but she could almost feel herself being "enchanted" by him, almost like . . .   
  
(... the flute to a snake)   
  
"Alright," she replied slowly, "Now the third question, where are we?"   
  
Remy gave a small smile of pride, "My room, chere." He gestures around to the small, simple bedroom, "Dis be a Guild safehouse. We be safe here for de meanwhile."   
  
She walked in finally from the doorway, sitting near the head of the bed. She crossed her legs uncomfortably and then grabbed a pillow putting in on her lap and resting her arms on it. She watched him almost 'too' closely. His stories for the most part sounded plausible. Ah, if he head would stop pounding she might be able to pick up if he was telling her the (real) truth. Everything she was getting was sketchy and fuzzy; but then so was the rest of her head right now. She frowned remembering it was like this for the first few hours the other times, too.   
  
"No. No, where are we exactly?"   
  
"A few dozen miles from de city, chere."   
  
Her jaw almost dropped a sudden shocked expression, but she set herself tightening her lips faintly at a rush of emotions that were all starting to grate inside madly with no release so far. Her tone almost sounded angry;   
  
"S-so far? You took me aw-Why? Why'd you bring me here?"   
  
He was a bit surprised by this sudden turn and said light;"Well, Jean, you pass'd out cold in my arms and I t'ought it be better den leave you to de cops, non?"   
  
A flushed brightened her pale cheeks suddenly and she looked down at the silk pillow in her lap, twisting part of it absently around her finger.   
  
"I-I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped at you. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Remy. It's all just this- it's- it's," a faint sigh escaped her lips as she reached up moving her curling bangs from her eyes and she sat back against the head of the bed," it's all just happening so fast."   
  
"S'okay, chere, you were someone who ended up in de wrong place in de wrong time, last night. It's natural you're a bit shak'n up."   
  
"Last night? What time is it now?"   
  
Glancing at his watch, he stifled a yawn, "Quarter t'six, chere. We best get movin' soon."   
  
"Moving?" This caught Jean like a frying pan upside the head, "Go where? Home?"   
  
Remy looked at her, saw the hopeful gleam in her eye at the mention of returning home. But was it safe right now for either of them to do so? Only he knew what she was doing there . . . or supposed to have been doing there. The feds in this area weren't stupid. They'd piece it together and would be swarming her house like mosquitoes, waiting for her.   
  
He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his face.   
  
"Non, Jean, we can't. Not yet. De situation too delicate. De cops be swarmin' dat warehouse, and won't take dem long t'put two and two together and be all over y'house."   
  
His ominous words brought back Jean's overwhelming guilt. Those people . . . had she really been the death of them? Never would she lash out at anyone, certainly not these mass of people whom she didn't know. But her powers . . . that blackout . . . could her powers had taken over, driven her mad? The thoughts increased in speed as they tore through her anguishing ming. The police were after her. She couldn't go home. They'd be waiting for her. But . . . what if her powers kicked in again? Might the same thing happen again? Would she wind up hurting Remy?   
  
"N-No," she choked, clutching the pillow tighter. "I have to leave. . . "   
  
Tentatively, Remy approached her, and outstretch hand of comfort reaching for her, "Jean, I'm sorry, but y'can't go home yet . . ."   
  
The bottle of emotions within her was rattling, ready to break lose the cork. She angrily shot out, slapping his hand away. Her voice rose, "Don't you get it?? Those poor people in the warehouse . . . their hellish deaths . . . *I* caused it!!"   
  
The shock, the repulsion, the horror she expected to see written on his face wasn't there. Instead, it was more of a confused look. Was he that dense? Or did he not know of what happened? "Chere, how . . . ?"   
  
Jean swallowed hard as she gripped the pillow even harder. "I . . . I have these . . . "blackout" episodes.   
  
They started not too long ago. I'm a . . ." Instantaneous memories of the news broadcasts with their stories of mutant hating hysteria made her rethink her next words, ". . . I mean, I have a mental condition. Doctor's have . . . diagnosed it . . . but they don't have a cure." Jean turned her head away, she couldn't bring herself to see his reaction. "Oh, Remy, you have to believe me! I'm not crazy! I'm not some kind of lunatic!! I - I never ASKED to be this way!!"   
  
She was so lost in her confession to reject the feel of his arm circling her shoulders consolingly. "No one ever does, chere. We take what we givin'. Dere ain't no return on genetics. An' I never said ya were crazy. But, s'il vous plait, continue . . . "   
  
Nodding, Jean finished, "I remember being out with a friend, and then, the next thing I knew . . . I woke up in this strange warehouse. It was almost pitch black inside, and I could feel myself laying . . . in their blood . . ." She shivered. "I found a flashlight . . . and that's when I saw them. Next thing I knew, the cops were fast showing, and I knew I had to get out of there. I found the hatch to the roof and climbed out that way. The police had swarmed the building, and one of them had fired at me. The bullet ricocheted off the ledge of the roof and cut into my leg. They called in their helicopter force, and that's when I thought of the ladder. Next thing I knew, I landed in . . . um . . . your arms, and the rest you know."   
  
Remy took her chin in his hand, turning her head gently to look her in the eye. "Do y'honestly believe, chere, dat *you* caused de death o'all dose people?"   
  
Jean bit her bottom lip, turning away from guilt at the strange feeling the look of his eyes gave her. "It's the only thing that makes sense. I don't remember what happens in those blackouts . . . I could become a completely different person. How else would I have wound up there?"   
  
Remy sighed as he watched her self-formed guilt eat her away inside. He sympathized wholly, he knew the torture of guilt all too well. But how could he put her mind to ease, without revealing his own guilt? His own shame?   
  
"Well, chere, we don' know for sure dat what happened," he offered, "But one thing for sure, we gon' have t'find out, t'clear us . . . "   
  
"Us?" Jean's head snapped back around to face him at the mention of the word.   
  
Remy smiles his most charming smile. "Oui, *Us*. Dey book me as well, prob'ly, f'r 'accessory for murder' and 'housing a criminal'."   
  
Jean laughed bitterly. "Okay, *us* then. Well, how are *we* going to clear *our* names?"   
  
Remy's expression turned serious. "By doin' some homework on dis."   
  
"Where do we start?"   
  
Remy thought for a moment. "Well, those people must have had something in connection, or a reason for all of them t'be dere. Before findin' ya, I didn' see no smears o' blood outside de warehouse, an' no killer, no matter how good, can get de stain o' blood outta concrete." 


	6. Part 6

Part 6 Strangers in the Dark  
  
She walked back out a few minutes later in the jeans and T-shirt. The blue jeans were a tad tight, but not so much that they would bother her and the white T-shirt hung snug to about her hips loose and comfortable.   
  
Another miraculous thing from Remy; clothes 'borrowed' from a friend. She wandered into the small a joining room silently. It was what appeared to contain a minor kitchen and table. She opened a few drawers.   
  
"Remy, where can I find a rubber---" she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence looking curiously at the third drawer as she held it open. How odd. It was filled with stacks of unopened decks of cards. How odd indeed.   
  
"Chere?"   
  
She almost jumping slamming the drawer shut and blushed looking up at him. She must look like such a snoop now. Oddly something inside already didn't want him to distrust her and that made a shiver run down her spine.   
  
"I-I was looking for a rubber band for my hair. Even a pencil would help really."   
  
He stood there, watching her with no emotion showing on his face. Turning towards his desk slowly, he opened a drawer, and handed her a black lacquered oriental hairpin.   
  
Responding to her quizzical look, he replied, "Was a 'souvenir' from a trip to Milan from a 'friend'."   
  
Nodding silently, she accepted the pin and began twisting and twirling her long hair up. Even staring down at the floor as she worked her hair, she could still feel his eyes on her, till his voice broke the silence.   
  
"Whatcha gon' do now, Jeannie?"   
  
"I - I don't know," her voice broke. "I don't know what I CAN do. Somehow I killed those poor people, and   
  
I can't even remember how or why! I - I know the right thing, the just thing, would be to turn myself in, but . . . " the fear took over.   
  
Remy pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards.   
  
"What makes y'think dat YOU were de cause o' dat holocaust?"   
  
Jean wrapped her arms around her, even though his room was warm enough to sweat off twenty pounds, she felt her skin grow cold.   
  
"Those . . . those blackout sessions. I don't remember what happens during them. And I was the only one left in the room that wasn't hurt. The cops were after me . . . "   
  
Remy shook his head, his reddish-brown hair thrown back out of his red-on-black eyes.   
  
"Girl, doesn't this setup seem a little too . . . convenient? De fact dat you just 'woke up' in dis warehouse ya ain't been in before, soaked in the blood of people ya never met, and yet SOMEHOW de cops jus' knew dat a mass killin' had happened in enough time t'stop ya before ya had a chance t'run? Dese cops may be pretty good at catchin' low grade criminals, but dey ain't an omnipresence, chere. Someone HAD t'tip dem off. Ya weren't in de warehouse long."   
  
Suspicion seized her at his words, "How do you know that?"   
  
"I ain' no criminologist, Jeannie, but I know 'nough bout 'field medicine' t'know don't take long for blood to cool, and when I caught ya outside de warehouse, dat blood on ya was still warm." "Oh," Jean's mind labored to process this new information. What he was saying made sense, but why was he so willing to believe that she wasn't the murderer?   
  
Choosing her words carefully, she decided to find out why. "Remy . . . why are you so willing to believe that I'm not responsible?"   
  
His eyes seemed to chill before her, "Would you rather I did?"   
  
"No . . no, " (Oh boy did THAT come out wrong!) "I mean . . . you just met me. And yet you're so willing to trust me?"   
  
Remy sighed as he looked down. This was a problem he often had as well, so he saw her point. "I didn't say dat I trusted you yet, Jeannie. Trust takes time. But I know de look o' a killer, chere, and believe me, ya ain't no killer."   
  
"You don't know that. The-the black outs…. They- they could change me."   
  
She almost bit her tongue looking down. That earlier comment had come out so wrong but it had brought up the trust issue. She knew it was the wrong thing to mention off the bat. There were two types of people when it came to trust. One set gave you the ultimate 100% of trust waiting for your actions to prove or disprove what they'd given you; the other set made you earn it by your actions from the bottom up.   
  
He was definitely part of the second group; and to a fraction of a degree- so was she, but also to fraction of degree she belonged to the first one, too. She gave everyone her complete trust almost momentarily, but for one problem- trust was the balance of honesty. Honest was something she just she couldn't view herself as anymore with this rather too un-obvious secret of hers.   
  
(I haven't been 'that' trusting of anyone in the few last years. Not with Melissa, or anyone my age. Not even with my parents. )   
  
A faint sigh escaped her lips as she reached up to rake a few strands of her fire bright curled bangs from her eyes. There hadn't been trust, honesty and a complete comfortably of the two since being at the Mansion in   
  
Westchester years back now. He'd understood her. He had looked on her almost like father would. He cared openly and he'd changed the world for her, but without trying he'd made her realize how cold and lonely her life could be and would be, too.   
  
(What would you say if you were here now? Or would you just hold me and tell me you'd help me again? Or would you 'even' be able to do anything about this?)   
  
"People can change, Remy- I've no idea what I become or do when it happens."   
  
It was the faintest whisper, almost not even heard. She let out a deep breath through her teeth, grasping her control of the situation and of her own sanity again and looked at him lightly, trying to cast aside for the moment her own doubts and fears.   
  
"So -umm- we'd better do something before their trail get cold- right?"   
  
Remy's eyes looked troubled, as he stopped to think.   
  
"I've . . . got a possible connection. I doubt he be de brains behind de massacre, but he may be a point man."   
  
Jean watched him closely; "Do you know where we can find this guy? How do you know of him?" Remy turned away from her to gather some things from his drawers and stock them into a black duffel bag.   
  
"Live in de shady side o' town, chere, ya learn o' de flip side o' life, AND it's residents. Jus' a hunch, mind you. But it all we got right now."   
  
Jean tilted her head slightly and watched him closely off and on as he changed into a pair of black jeans and black shirt- as to atleast give a bit of privacy.   
  
(Well, THAT was definitely cryptic! Hmmmm, I wonder what he meant by that? He couldn't-) "Why would you-," she stops before the sentence ends, thrusting her doubting edge away from herself and him before it brings up anymore problem talks. Asking accusatory sentences and questions wouldn't help her anymore than another black out would at the moment. She nods faintly as he appears to almost be done collecting things and sits down grabbing a pair of socks and her "relatively" now clean shoes; putting them on.   
  
She stood up, a few small curls that wouldn't stay back with the pin falling over her forehead and the sides face as she crossing her arm relaxingly across her stomach watching him.   
  
**********************************************   
  
"Just exactly *where* are we going?"   
  
Jean followed Remy through the dark alleyways, marveling how he made no sound as he walked. It made herself cringe at the faint noise that she was making just walking normally, as the sound echoed through the eerie alleyways.Remy smiled coldly as he led her to a fence.   
  
"Gon' be findin' our 'point man', chere."   
  
He scaled the fence with the grace of a feline cat, crouching down to offer a hand to help her up. Jean smiled and rolled her eyes as she took a running step and jumped, pushing herself up and vaulting over the fence, landing smoothly. Remy smiled as he lept down beside her. Perhaps he had underestimated this femme. He walked with her a moment longer until he stilled. His hand shot out to hold her back.   
  
"Wait . . ."   
  
She watched him, startled. His eyes were staring ahead, but looked like they were staring at nothing. Almost as if he was . . . scanning . . . for something! Remy nodded.   
  
"He's here."   
  
Jean could feel her heart start to race, but whether it was from the anticipation of revealing this mysterious man or from Remy suddenly taking hold of her hand, she couldn't tell. He led her up a couple of canisters and vaulted her up to the rooftop of a small nearby run-down building. He crouched with her in the crook of the rooftop, and pointed to a large crack in the lip of the rooftop ledge, to where she could see through to the street below, and still stay hidden.   
  
He turned to her, his strange red-on-black eyes drilling deep into her own. His voice was almost as hypnotic as his eerie eyes.   
  
"I need ya t'stay here, chere. If t'ings go bad, I don' want ya in de crossfire. Dis guy is sharp. If he sense trouble, it mean hell f'r us, chere." 


	7. Part 7

"Of course, sir."  
  
"Yes, the girl's still missing; but we have an pretty good idea of who's helping the little brat."  
  
"Yes, sir; we have all our the first resort men on it."  
  
"Next transmission to be around 23 hundred hours."  
  
Fisk slammed the small blue phone headpiece down into the same blue set holder, almost throwing them both off the desk; muttering; "Stupid asshole." He picked up a folder looking at the picture of two young girls, faint laughter coming to his lips as they twisted into a sneer.  
  
"We're going to bury you, little girl. Sorry little case you are. No one you trust is even a friend, anymore."  
  
With another gruff laugh Fisk closed and threw the folder on the top of the desk in the dimly lit room and picked up his bomber jacket, slipping it on. The man was seemly shady, slipping out of the office turning off the light. Looking at him walking through the warehouse; he was a character. He wore old and worn dark blue jeans and a simple green shirt under the bomber jacket. A bit of stubble on the face that seem all to lost in his next deed. Shaggy black hair and small grayish eyes under a pair of cheap imitation sunglasses; that looked as if they hadn't seen sleep in ages.  
  
As the door had closed the gust of air knocked one picture across the gaping space between table and floor, it landing with a soft small sound. An intricate and utterly innocent picture. The picture of innocence, youth, and beauty. She was a young girl; couldn't be more than 16, maybe 17. Her eyes seemed younger and older still at the same second. She was leaning back across the front of a car, long blonde hair and bright pink John Lennon glasses. A bright laughing smile and her fingers in a peace sign to the camera. She seemed, inevitably......happy.  
  
************************************************************  
  
Jean nodded in the silence, promising; but Remy was already slipping away as she did. It was good to be alone for a moment. To breathe her own air without being watched over. Her eyes followed him slowly discretely since he made not a single sound. Half of her heart was beating excitedly. Who else her age got to do this sorta thing? It was an adventure. A terror. It made her breath catch in her throat and her heart sop at some points; when she forgot to analyze it all. She just took it in for a few seconds. In some crack watching and keeping safe. She muffled a yawn into her pale hand smothering even the faintest sound.   
  
For a moment a scene from the Little Mermaid blast across Jean's mind, with no recollection of where exactly it came from. Picture centered on the fish -Flounder, was it? Or something like that?- and he was in the treasure ship, trying to seem brave; the line glittered her memory. "Excitement........Adventure........Danger lurking 'round every corner" the little fish mummered not even seeing the shark looming right behind him and the glass windows of the ship, preparing to attack. And for a sudden second it felt as if her heart stopped.   
  
(Am I in over my head?)  
  
She looked left and right for a second. Damn, she lost him in the shadows. She hoped and prayed for a second that he was okay and then almost laughed at the thought. The boy looked even though he was her age that he'd been on his own and doing fine for a while now. Who was he to need anyone hoping and praying for him? The thought stayed a while, but it was still pushed over by the faint hope in her that he would alright while a faint frown formed, thinking she was too soft towards people.  
  
Pushing the slow forming anxieties from her mind and body she calmed; but only momentarily, before terror took over as a hand clamped harshly over her mouth, giving her no room to make but the smallest unheard noise and she was brutally yanked from the crack where she was hiding.  
  
((Oh, god, Not again))  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Walking back from a different room across the warehouse floor Fisk's ears caught the faint noise. Genetically enhanced -even if the man was one of the greatest sneaks his shoes made the slightest sound of friction on the ground- and his mechanical hyper senses picked it up. He listened for barely a second longer.  
  
"Remy Lebeau."  
  
The speaking through the silence -Fisk's loud booming voice- the words were more a statement of amussement than a greeting or an accusation. Turning with an arrogant grin his eyes studying the large dark room focusing almost perfectly on where he is in the darkened shadows and dimmed light. They'd work together before -long ago- but that was before Remy had 'gone soft' as Fisk put it at lightest.  
  
"Come out, come out, wherever you are. You know you can't hide from me, or surprise me, Lebeau. This game is stupid."  
  
Faintest rise in heart breath and breath was all noted surprise from the man on the other side of the warehouse from Fisk. He laughed suddenly as it happened.  
  
"You've given them a run for their money, you know. It doesn't matter though, you must realize someone else took the fall of course, don't you? But where's your beautiful and sweet little accomplice, Wild Card?"   
  
"Here, boss."  
  
From the sam direction came a burly a man suddenly another man from the past. Lumberjack big and brawn to match it. He didn't need to be so much enhanced because of his fighting skills. Curly Joe, with Jean walking right in front of him. One of the mans hands was calmped firmly over the young girls mouth and her hair on one side and the other had a gun next to her right temple on the otherside.   
  
"I got the little girly."  
  
Considering her wake of fear that she was now living in, Jeanie's eyes were barely open and the little they were focused on was taking steps and the circle of metal that pressed against her temple. Pressed the edge of her life with it's very cold being, reminding her just how mortal she was. 


End file.
